The Wedding
by LuminaCarina
Summary: A lot of things happen at Harry's Wedding. Some of them good, some of them bad, some important, others not at all. (and yes, it so deserves the Capital letter)


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

:

Okay, so.

For the record, there was nothing I could have done to save the day. Absolutely nothing. Because, well, _because_. _Why_, you ask? Well, you'll find out soon. But first you have to understand that there was _nothing_ _anyone_ _could have done_ to save the day. We clear? Yeah? Good.

Alright, it happened like this.

:

Hermione had never been of the panicking sort. _Never_. But these circumstances deserved panic, like, seriously. She was a _breath_ away from screaming. Or snapping someone's neck – that worked, too.

Because she was _not_ about to be the reason Harry's wedding fell apart – and that was _final_ – she would have to improvise. She could do that, yeah, no worries.

''You!'' she shrieked accusingly, pointing an embarrassingly dramatic finger at the offending figure. ''_What _do you _think_ you're _doing_?!''

Ron froze, his hand an _inch_ away from the strawberry and lemon cream and crystalized flower decorated wedding cake that had taken her _hours_ to safely bring and had cost a fortune. Hermione took care of that cake like it was her firstborn, and _damn it all_ if she let Ron get his grubby little fingers on it before the bride got to even _see_ it.

''The flowers were melting.'' Ron defended himself weakly. ''I was putting them back.''

She doesn't even deign that with an answer, swatting him away from the precious cake and sending him fleeing with barked out orders to go and _''Make trouble somewhere else, you dolt!''_

:

''So,'' Ron declared, ''Hermione's gone right barmy.''

Twin snorts echoed. ''When did you figure that out?''

''Not like _that_!'' Ron flushed. ''I think the wedding's getting to her. She looked… explosive. All red and stuff. And she kept calling me Bilius, so…''

George slung his arm around his little brother's shoulders. ''Ronniekins, sweetheart, _darling_ baby boy… The esteemed Miss Granger has always been on the verge of revealing her inner crazy. You're just the last one to realise it.''

Ron tried to throw his brother's arm off, but was thwarted by a second hand descending on his head and roughly – and _painfully_ – rubbed its knuckles into his hair. Ron continued to struggle. ''Get off, stop, _stop_! Angelina, _stop_!''

''Oi, _oi_! Stop wiggling!'' George snapped at him. ''You're wrinkling my robes.''

Angelina laughed. ''Don't worry 'bout the robes, Georgie. I'll fix 'em for you. Now come on, I want to go see how the _bride's_ holding up.''

George let go of his brother and grudgingly followed after his girlfriend, leaving Ron mercifully alone. ''See ya later, Ronnie!''

Ron stared after them and made a very rude finger gesture at their backs. They didn't even give him any advice, let alone any _good_ advice. Twats.

:

Pansy _hated_ weddings. She hated them with a fiery passion that was only succeeded by her hatred of small, fluffy animals that had _no_ right to be called dogs. Really, if a _cat_ could eat it, it wasn't a dog. But weddings were still up there.

So when she got the invitation to the wedding of her – _kind of_, they hadn't actually talked since their Hogwarts days – friend, she had wanted to decline and spend the day at home, with her beloved Sagitta, who was an _actual_ dog and not some pretender to the title.

But fate had other plans for her.

This is why she was now here, in a sweltering hot – and Merlin, _why_ was it so hot when it was only _April_ – tent, surrounded by _absurdly_ large flowers and stuffing herself with appetisers so she wouldn't give into her urge to _scream_.

Still, she supposed it could be worse. At least she would get to see Daphne waddle down the aisle like the overgrown chicken she was. The desire to cackle rose up inside her at the very _thought_ of seeing the ice princess have a shotgun wedding. _By Merlin_, this was at least funny, which would sort of make up for the misery she was currently feeling.

:

''I can't, I can't do this, I _can't_ –''

''Shut up!''

Daphne tearfully stared at her little sister. ''Did you just –''

''Yes.'' Said Astoria. ''I did. You needed it, Daphne.'' Seeing her sister's blotched face, she softened. ''It's not good for the baby, sister. You _need_ to calm down.''

Daphne shook her head. ''I _can't_. This is – I don't even – I don't _want_ to marry him! I – I don't –''

Astoria's eyes went cold and hard as flint. ''You made this decision on your own, sister.'' She told her quietly. ''I had no hand in it. You should be glad Potter's nice enough to marry you, when most men would've _laughed_ at you and _tossed you out_ on your ear. The least you can do is go through with this and allow him to regain you _some_ honour.''

Daphne lowered her eyes to the ground and squeezed them shut. For all that she didn't want to hear what Tori was saying, she knew her little sister was right. _She_ was the one to seduce Potter, and _she_ was the one to get pregnant. Potter was kind enough to marry her and accept her bastard child; she _couldn't_ throw his kindness back in his face.

''Alright,'' she agreed shamefully, ''Alright. I'll do it. I'll – I can do this.''

Astoria nodded sharply, all business. ''Good. And have some more tea – the Healers said it should help you.''

:

''Isn't it hot in here? Isn't it? It's hot in here. Someone, open the windows, please. It's –''

A droll voice answered him. ''There are no windows in here.''

''– really hot.'' He finished lamely.

Ginny gave him a _look_. It was a look he knew all too well, the one that claimed he was an idiot and a moron and a whole lot of other unflattering things, but that she was all that too and would still try to help him. ''_Why_ are you so snappy and hyper, Harry? It's not like you don't know what's going to happen.''

Harry paused in his frantic pacing. ''Well, yeah. I mean, I know what'll happen. And I'm not hyper. It's just –''

''Hot in here, yes, I _know_. You've said it a hundred times by now.''

He blushed. ''It's not – I just – _Argh_! You know what I mean.''

Ginny sighed. ''No, I don't. I can't understand you if you don't use words, Harry. Communication is the key, _remember_?''

''You got that from muggle magazines, didn't you?'' he accused her.

''Of course I did.'' Ginny agreed easily. ''Now start using words and _tell me what's wrong_.''

Harry roughly carded his hand through his hair. ''I… nothing's wrong. Not really. Just… Do you think I'll be bad at it?''

''At what?''

Harry gestured at the air helplessly. ''_This_. All of it. Marriage, kids. I don't even have a stable _job_ yet. I just feel like I'll be a failure at it. That Daphne will hate me. That my _child_ will hate me.''

Ginny frowned as his voice got progressively more ragged and choked as he went on. ''Stop.'' She commanded. ''You won't be a failure, Harry. _I_ won't let you fail. And I'm sure your baby won't hate you. Not even _Malfoy_ hated you, in the end.''

''Yeah, but that was Malfoy. Daphne's not…''

''So this is about Daphne?'' she asked.

Exhaling heavily, Harry thought it over. ''Ah, a bit, yes.''

''Well.'' Ginny folded her hands in her lap primly. ''I can't say I particularly care for Daphne, because I don't. She _used_ you, and I doubt I'll ever forget that. But I don't really know her, either, so I won't judge. Do you think you can make this marriage of yours work with her?''

''I… yeah. I think I can. If – if she wanted – if she _allowed_ me – I could love her. With time.''

''With time.'' Ginny echoed.

:

So _there you have it_, ladies and gentlemen. The entire wedding was falling apart at the seams – _seams_, as in plural. Even if I had tried to help, it would have done no good. There were just too many holes to fix.

And now that you know the circumstances of the wedding, can you _really_ blame them for being so messed up?

:

Alright, so. Hermione was the coolheaded one. The smart one. The one with the _plan_. She is not one to lose her wits.

Only, that was exactly what was happening to her now.

''Why can't you people _listen_ to me?! I'm not speaking Mermish, am I?! Just do as I say, _god damn_ _it_!''

The traumatised horde of her 'helpers' flinched and tried to explain. But their explanations were completely ignored in favour of ranting.

''I just want this to go _smoothly_! A nice, charming, _proper_ wedding, with a _happy_ groom and a _loving_ bride, with – with _flowers_ and bloody expensive French _cake_! It's not – it's not like I'm asking for too much, am I?! _Am I_?! Why can't you – why not –''

''There, there, Miss Granger. Calm down now. No need for hysterics.''

The many hired help breathed in relief when Hermione turned to sob on Madam Pomfrey's shoulder instead of shouting at them. For all that the War Heroine was beloved, she was also _feared_, deeply feared, by everyone who had ever seen her frazzled and, Merlin forbid, _stressed_.

The thing was, though, that Hermione wasn't _stressed_. She was _distressed_. Big difference there. And she was distressed because it felt like everything about Harry's wedding was _falling apart_, and she could do _nothing_ to stop the destruction. Even worse, no one seemed to _care_ about the disaster happening.

Poppy petted her head like one would pet a small, scared animal, and Hermione made a quiet keening noise. It was – she felt like such a failure! She couldn't even coordinate a simple _wedding_! What kind of friend was she?

Thank Merlin on small miracles, because while Madam Pomfrey was consoling Hermione, the workers were left alone to finish putting up all the decorations.

:

Pansy had no idea why she had come so early, but she could appreciate it if it meant seeing the Gryffindor golden girl have a mental breakdown. Her mother always told her to enjoy the little things in life, and this really _was_ amusing.

''So,'' she drawled. ''The perfect one isn't so perfect after all. How… sad. You'd think gods would _stay_ gods.''

Hermione wiped her eyes, fully aware that she looked like an absolute mess regardless. ''I'm no goddess.'' She retorted without bothering to look who was talking to her. ''I'd like to be alone now, please.''

Pansy smirked. ''Please, she says. So _polite_.''

''Please leave me be,'' Hermione bit out. ''I'm not in the mood for games.''

''It's either bother _you_ or get rip-roaring _drunk_. I'd rather be sober enough to enjoy Greengrass' misery later on, so I guess you're out of luck, Granger.''

''_Parkinson_.'' Hermione hissed. ''What are you doing here?''

Pansy shrugged, unashamed. ''Daphne invited me. Other than that, I have no idea. Nothing better to do, I suppose.''

Which was a complete and utter lie. She had tons of better things to do, such as visiting her mother, or playing with Sagitta. But something told her to go to the thrice-damned wedding, despite her hatred of both Daphne _and_ weddings.

''Who chooses to get married in April, anyway? It's cold, and ugly. And the _cake_ – so pretentious.''

Hermione snapped. ''Go away, Parkinson,'' she said quietly, _dangerously_, ''before I do something I won't regret.''

But Pansy just sighed and languished in her chair even ore obnoxiously. ''I suppose it's too much to expect the ice princess to have some taste. She always _has_ been trying too hard. New money, what can you do?''

Hermione gritted her teeth. _She's a guest_, she reminded herself, _a guest_. But Parkinson just wouldn't stop talking.

''No class, not really. Just look at her – _pregnant_. Really, Potter is more of a fool than I thought. Anyone else would have left her to deal with the brat on her own.''

''Stop talking. _Now_.'' Hermione said, calmer now that she had something she could deal with. ''Harry's child is exactly that. _Harry's_. And after today, Daphne will be his wife. So you will _shut your_ _mouth_, Parkinson, before I shut it for you.''

Pansy stared at the bushy-haired witch, scrutinising her. ''Well,'' she said finally. ''Want some Firewhiskey, Granger?''

:

Angelina wasn't a very complicated person. She was honest and straightforward. She cared little for brain-twisting games of wit, or any such silly _nonsense_. Sometimes shit was shit and roses were roses, and other times roses were shit also. No need for _drama_ or poetical _bullshit_.

When Daphne Greengrass turned out to have got Harry drunk and herself knocked up, well. Angelina shrugged and made mince pie to greet the new member of the family. Not like there was much else to do.

''You look real nice.'' She told the blonde – who looked like she'd been crying, but who was Angelina to judge – in what was hopefully _not_ an amused tone of voice. Really, Daphne's stomach looked positively _huge_ in the white dress, but again, there was a baby there, so she couldn't judge.

Daphne snorted. ''I look like I'm wearing the tent I'm getting married in.'' she said dryly, startling a laugh out of Angelina.

''Well, 's not like Harry'd care either way. He thinks you hang the moon.''

That was… obviously the _wrong_ thing to say. Daphne's face scrunched up in a most unattractive way, and while Angelina wanted to say some _things_, she kept her mouth _shut_. It wasn't any of her business how Harry and his soon-to-be wife handled their marriage.

Instead, she laughed loudly and carelessly. ''Want me to tell you what Hermione's done with the place?''

Daphne smiled thinly in agreement, and Angelina continued. ''Well, Georgie don't like it, mind you, but _I_ think it's pretty nice. There's flowers all over, and the cake looks yummy. Fleur almost _cried_ when she heard who made the cake, so I suppose it's some big French bloke. Must be good at it if even Fleur's going gaga over it.''

_Yeah_, Angelina decided, _Daphne just needed someone to be alright and accepting. All the stress couldn't be good for the baby._

:

''You know, hoping someone will come up to you and save you like some fairy tale _prince_? It won't help you. You'll just trip yourself up and get hurt even worse. Only _you_ can help yourself.''

Ginny scoffed. ''And _you_ would know, wouldn't you?''

''Yes, I would.'' Katie's voice was steely and unyielding, which prompted Ginny to actually consider her words.

''It's not… I don't want to be saved.'' Ginny sounded petulant even to herself.

Katie tilted her head. ''Don't you?''

''No.'' Ginny insisted. ''I want things to go _back_, like they were before. But that's stupid and selfish, and impossible. So I help Harry, with Daphne and the baby and everything, and I push my own hurt away a bit more, and try to forget about it. Only it doesn't really work. It just delays the hurt until later.''

''You have to help _yourself_. Not just with this, but with _everything_. People praise selflessness too much nowadays. Selfish people have better lives, you know. But you shouldn't be selfish either. Try to find a balance between it – between selfishness and selflessness. _That's_ when it will stop hurting.'' Katie looked infinitely sad when she said that, but also… unbreakable.

Katie knew what it was like to be cast aside in favour of another – even if it was for a good reason – and she had got over her pain a while back. Ginny _wanted_ that. She wanted to be _strong_, to stand on her own two feet. And, though she didn't want to, she knew Katie was right. She had to help herself first.

''Who knows,'' Katie smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling, ''maybe you'll be the godmother.''

Ginny had to laugh at that. ''Yes,'' she agreed, ''maybe I will.''

:

So okay, I _may_ have lied a bit.

It wasn't _all_ horrible. There was hope. But that hope was for the people, not the wedding itself. The wedding was doomed from the start.

Oh, and, to clear things up a little, Daphne hadn't actually meant to get pregnant. That was just an unfortunate result of her misg – mis – misguid – oh _damn it all_ – her _stupid_ decision to seduce the Boy Who Lived.

And as for Harry, well. You'll see. For now though, we'll skip to the actual wedding.

:

Harry was discretely panicking. He was already in his place, waiting for Daphne. Ron was next to him, and though Hermione was nowhere to be seen, he felt mildly reassured. He was _still_ sick with fear, mind you, he was just concealing it better.

It wasn't that he disliked Daphne, not at all – in fact, if he felt anything for her, it was a sort of awe one can only feel for the mother of their child, and there was a healthy dose of respect there, too. Her strength could only be admired, as could her willingness to swallow her pride if favour of her baby's health.

The Ministry official was small and frail, with dark – _was that blue or was he going crazy?_ – hair, his robes a cheery yellow.

Finally, the music started. He had no idea what composition it was, as it had been chosen by Hermione, but he supposed it was nice.

There was a commotion, and the first to come out was Ginny, looking rather smug as she tossed around the flower petals, aiming for the guests' heads, followed after by Hermione, Pansy Parkinson and Astoria, all of them looking very nice in their tailored dresses.

_Why was Parkinson there? _he wondered for a moment, before discarding it in favour of _horror_, because Parkinson and Hermione looked suspiciously red and giggling – Merlin, Morgana and Mordred – were they _drunk_?

And then he had no time to wonder about anything, because Daphne was _there_, big and white and trying her best not to scowl, and his only thought was a small, fond _''I'm so doomed,''_ before – it – all – _fell apart._ Daphne – she either twisted her ankle or tripped or something – _didn't matter_ – because in the next moment she was _screaming_, and everyone was rushing to help the pregnant lady.

His panic almost made him collapse. ''Daphne?! _Daphne_?! What – how – _by Merlin_!'' he flailed around helplessly, not knowing what to do. There was something wet and smelly _everywhere_, soaking Daphne's dress a faint brown. The fluid was… so nasty he had to forcibly stop himself from running away.

''She's going into labour!'' Hermione shrieked. ''We have to – someone firecall St Mungo's – oh god –'' and then she turned around and vomited all over Astoria's skirt. Astoria, being Astoria screamed in pure outrage and tried to club Hermione with her bouquet, almost succeeding in it – whoever said flowers weren't dangerous was a _fool_ – until Hermione saved herself by colliding with George and careening to the side.

In the midst of all the chaos, Parkinson tore off Ron's jacket and threw it at Daphne, screaming ''Cover it, cover it, _cover it_!'' at the ugly stain, which did nothing to help at all, and just made Daphne cry – big, fat tears rolling down her face from _sheer terror_.

Harry took her hand and let her grip it so tight it hurt, because apparently, that's what husbands did when their wives were about to give birth. ''It's alright,'' he comforted, ''_breathe_, Daphne. Breathe, deep breaths, do it with me. Come on, _deep breaths_!''

However, he wasn't _nearly_ as comforting as he thought he was, because Daphne's other hand rose up to grab him around his neck and start choking the life out of him. _''I'll give you deep breaths! I'll kill you! It's – get it out of me! Now!''_

:

I won't traumatise you by continuing that scene. You can guess what happened next. The Healers arrived and took over. They appeared rather clueless when they showed up, mostly because Angelina's explanation had been slightly _incoherent_, but it all worked out somehow.

In the end, the only person to have kept _some_ semblance of sanity if the face of something as horrifying as childbirth was, _oddly_, Ron Weasley, and he got the role of the responsible adult who kept them all from killing each other. Which was necessary because Astoria tried to rip Hermione apart two separate times, and _everyone_ wanted to kill Harry – his erratic pacing and mumbling was getting on their nerves.

Well, I say _their_ nerves, but I wanted to kill him, too.

:

''I have a son. A _son_.''

''Yes, we know. You said it already.''

But the reprimand had no edges to it. Harry was just so star struck and awed, one would have to be a right bastard to fault him. Ron himself was feeling all kinds of mushy at the mere _thought_ of the little kid. All pink skin and baby blue eyes, James Sirius Potter was one adorable baby.

He felt his disdain of Daphne fade a little. It's hard, after all, to hate the one who gave you a godson. And, well. Ron had _seen_ her with the baby. For all that she was a cold, hard bitch, no one could deny the fact that she _adored_ her newly born son.

''I _held_ him, Ron.'' Ron thought that Harry sounded mildly hysterical. ''He's just so soft. Like – like a tiny _pillow_. All fat and lumpy and stuff. What – what if I _drop_ him? If I – Merlin – if I, I don't know, forget to _feed_ him or something?''

Sighing in resignation, Ron went to do his duty as the Best Man and comfort Harry. ''You won't drop him, Harry. And if you do, well, my brothers dropped me more times than my mum _knows_, and _she_ thinks they did it some six or seven times. I turned out alright.''

''Not helping, mate.'' Harry looked distinctly green around the gills.

Ron waved his arms apologetically. ''Sorry, sorry. But the point is – _look_, you have to calm down. Stop worrying so much. Daphne will take care of him for the most part, and all _you'll_ be required to do is come by every evening and listen to her whinge about the kid, and maybe play with the Bunny every now and then.''

''_Bunny_?''

''Yeah, since he has the, you know, pretty big ears. Not very good gnomes there, mate.'' Ron nodded sagely, scratching his cheek.

''Gnomes?'' Harry repeated, even more confused. ''Did you mean _genomes_?''

''Yeah, those. Hermione said something about – well, never mind that now. What I meant is – you'll have very little to do with Jamie while he's _this_ little, so there's really not much fear of messing him up.''

Harry, instead of calming down, grew even more alarmed. ''Little to do with him?! What do you mean?''

Ron blinked. ''Well, isn't Daphne going to be taking care of him? She's his _mum_, after all.''

''We'll both be taking care of him.'' Harry explained bemusedly. ''I'm his parent too.''

Ron thought this made very little sense – because what did Harry know about raising children? For that matter, what did any man know about raising children? He voiced his concerns, but all that seemed to do is make Harry look at him even more oddly.

''Well, I don't know how to raise children now. But I'm sure I can learn. Why wouldn't I?''

''But you have a _job_. Auror training and all. When will you have the time? And besides, it's the _mother's_ job to take care of the babies. You step in once they're big enough to actually understand you, you know? Why would you want to – I don't know – deal with the nappies and shi-'' Ron choked and backtracked. ''_Ship_. I meant ship.''

It was never good, after all, to use foul language in vicinity of young ears. Even when those ears were only hours old and a room away.

Harry frowned. ''I don't know if that's a wizard tradition or something, but I _won't_ be doing that. I want to have a role in James' life. I want to raise him, with Daphne. Not – I don't want to be the dad who never sees his kid or has time for him.''

''Suit yourself, mate.'' Ron shrugged. ''I still think you're bonkers.''

:

Hermione and Pansy exchanged _looks_. They felt, well, _guilty_ about their reaction to Daphne going into labour. That is, Hermione felt guilty about it. Pansy was more concerned about throwing Weasley's jacket and ruining it. It _had_ been hand-made by Dresrossa Lychee, as were all other clothes for the wedding.

Still, Daphne looked weirdly small right then and there, in the hospital bed, tired from giving birth. Hermione was still a tad tipsy, but her head was quickly clearing up.

''Do you… need anything?'' she asked hesitantly.

Her only answer was an almost inaudible snore. It appeared Daphne had fallen asleep.

''_Che_.'' Pansy scoffed. ''She still hasn't got any stamina.''

Hermione huffed slightly, very much annoyed with the Pug for a) getting her _drunk_; b) _stomping_ on the beautiful cake; and c) being rude to Daphne while she was in _childbirth_. Really, the Pug had shouted obscenities at the blonde to motivate her when all Daphne had wanted to do was cry.

But still. She supposed that Pansy wasn't all _that_ bad. She had her… moments of not-complete-vileness. And, well, that could be enough for now. It _would_ be enough.

:

So, now that you know what happened, I suppose you want to know who your narrator was.

Well, _ha-ha_, you don't get to. And why should you? All you did was sit there while I did all the work. My throat is rather _parched_ now, you know. Any other things you want to know?

…What was that? You want to hear how things ended up for Ginny?

Well. I suppose I could indulge you just this _one_ time. She ended up Jamie's godmother. _Yes, yes_. Good for her. Give the girl a prize. You might also want to know that she did, in the end, get over Harry. She was the kick-arse Aunt, you see, and later became very good friends with Katie Bell.

Now, we're done. Chop, chop.

_Scram_.

:

**Prompts: April, jacket, wedding, heartbreak**

**Unedited; un-beta'd**


End file.
